


A Custom Job with a Glossy Finish

by morganoconner



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Frottage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-04
Updated: 2011-10-04
Packaged: 2017-10-24 13:38:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/264072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morganoconner/pseuds/morganoconner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel runs an auto repair shop with Sam and Dean. This isn't how his day normally goes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Custom Job with a Glossy Finish

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [](http://salt_burn_porn.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://salt_burn_porn.livejournal.com/)**salt_burn_porn** challenge, for the prompt _knockin' me out with those American thighs_.

Castiel rocks back on his heels, inspecting his work carefully. He's proud of it, he thinks it may even be some of his best, and he has a strong feeling that the Mustang's owner – a notoriously critical man – will be pleased. The design took him a week to perfect, and the job itself has been labor-intensive and difficult. But it's worth it if he receives that single nod of approval signifying a job well done. He'll make the phone call tomorrow, after he sends an e-mail with a few high-resolution pictures. All in all, he's more than ready to count this as a successful day, though he still has work to do in the office before he can go home and relax.

He cleans up his equipment in his usual methodical fashion, running a hand lovingly over his collection of airbrushes – a gift from John Winchester the day KAZ opened its doors three years ago. His paints are set back in their proper places along the far wall, and he pauses long enough to jot down how much of each color remains on his ever-present clipboard. It won't do to need one down the road and discover he's run out. Delays like that are what lead to angry clients, and thus far, he's never had an angry client.

Angry clients are typically Dean's area of expertise, and Castiel would like to keep it that way.

When his area of the shop is cleaned and organized, Castiel braces himself and opens the door to the main garage. As expected, he is instantly bombarded with the too-loud noise blaring from the speakers of Dean's stereo. Dean's assured him more than once that this is "music to live by", but Castiel knows better. It's noise, pure and simple. He shakes his head.

Dean glances up when he hears the door slam and tosses a smirk at Castiel. His green eyes shine brightly in the fluorescent lighting of the shop, and Castiel rolls his eyes at him but can't fight the fond smile.

He glances around for Sam as he heads towards the sanctuary of the office, spots him buried under the feisty little Corvette he's been fighting with for two days now. From this angle, Castiel can only see his legs sticking out from underneath the car, one bent just slightly at the knee while the other foot bops rhythmically along to the music.

It's a familiar sight that shouldn't get Castiel's heart racing the way it does, and with that thought in mind, he retreats hastily to the office and its quieter (safer) atmosphere.

He gets out the ledger and sets about his accounting responsibilities, losing himself in the monthly task of adding and subtracting and calculating past expenses and budgeting for future ones.

Originally, the business side of the auto shop was what the Winchester brothers had brought him in for. Castiel's known the Winchester family his whole life, grew up down the street from John and Mary and their two children. Dean, four years older than Sam and Castiel, was the one who originally had the idea for KAZ Classic Auto Repair. Castiel was always good with numbers, and he was happy to be given a place here because of it, and the chance to build his adult life around that of his two childhood friends.

It was Sam who brought up the idea of not only the auto repair shop, but one that specialized in custom painting as well, and he'd done so with a bright grin in Castiel's direction.

Castiel, with his eye for detail and his secret love of art and his passion for creation in any form, still trembles with gratitude when he remembers that moment.

Three years later, their little venture is thriving, and Castiel is a big part of the reason. He takes pride in his work now, something he was never able to do under the strict and severe rule of his father. He's _happy_ now, in a way he was never fully allowed to be growing up, and if it weren't for this newfound ridiculous and unwelcome attraction to one of his two closest friends, he's sure he could count his life as perfect.

He slams the door on these thoughts and diligently re-focuses on the numbers in front of him. There are more important things to worry about, especially here at work.

It's getting late by the time he emerges from the depths of the accounting ledger. He stretches, wincing at the way his spine cracks, and glances up at the clock. He's missed dinner again, but that's nothing new. He'll grab a quick bite and then take the pictures he needs to send to Mr. Henriksen. With luck, he'll still make it home before it's fully dark out. This early in the summer, it's almost entirely possible.

A quick tug of the blinds reveals that the Impala is gone from her usual spot, which means Dean's left for the day. Since neither he nor Sam stopped into the office to say goodnight, Castiel knows Sam will still be here, which means he takes a few deep breaths before making his way back into the garage to see if Sam wants anything from the sandwich shop next door.

The music is lower now, and at a manageable volume, Castiel thinks he can almost hear whatever it is about classic rock that Dean finds so appealing. He finds himself remembering long afternoons from his childhood, playing in the Winchesters' backyard with Sam and Dean while this same music poured out from Mr. Winchester's workshop. Those are happy memories, ones he cherishes, and it makes him stare affectionately at the radio for a long moment.

It is, of course, Castiel's luck that he looks back at Sam, still under the Corvette and oblivious to Castiel's presence, just as a new, somewhat more _suggestive_ song comes on.

In Castiel's house growing up, any kind of secular music was righteously banned by his parents, and even now, the only time he really hears it is in the shop. He rarely pays attention to lyrics, but it's almost impossible not to hear them now.

_She was a fast machine, she kept her motor clean, she was the best damn woman that I ever seen…_

Castiel is willing to bet money that this particular song is a favorite of Dean's, incongruous flirt that he is. Typically, all of his favorites are the songs that make Castiel blush and stammer and sweat. A particularly distasteful affliction that Castiel has never been able to shake.

_She had the sightless eyes, telling me no lies, knockin' me out with those American thighs…_

His swallow must surely be audible, as his eyes fall unwillingly to the V of Sam's legs where they're spread as he works on the undercarriage of the car, one foot still bouncing with the music. The sound of metal on metal as Sam works steadily creates a pleasant counterbalance to the guitars and drums of the song in the background, and Castiel finds himself completely lost in this moment.

_Taking more than her share, had me fighting for air, she told me to come but I was already there…_

There's no other word for the sound Castiel makes except to call it a whimper. Quiet enough, praise God and his angels, that Sam can't possibly hear it, but enough to shake Castiel from the stupor he's fallen into, and he stumbles back, tripping over the pile of boxes stacked next to the office door.

That, obviously, _does_ get Sam's attention. He slides out from beneath the car, blinking wide hazel eyes, smudges of grease on his forehead and right cheek, chestnut hair looking far too perfect as it curls just slightly enough to brush against his neck, and God, Castiel is doomed.

He's braced against the wall to catch his balance, but he may as well be falling again when Sam meets his eyes, because he goes suddenly boneless, and the air dissolves from his lungs, and the room seems to be tilting funnily, or even spinning outright. He knows his face is flushed (that song, that damn _song_ ), and he must look all sorts of crazy right now, but Sam suddenly gives a big dimpled grin, and Castiel's heart swells.

So do other things, but he very consciously doesn't think about that.

"Hey Cas!" Sam says cheerfully, standing and wiping his hands on his coveralls. "Nice timing, I was just finishing her up. Uncle Caleb owes me his soul for this one, his car is a _bitch_ , man." Perhaps it's Castiel's unusual silence that alerts him, but Sam suddenly stops and takes a good long look at him. "Hey, you okay?"

"Yes, I'm…" _Fine_ , Castiel wants to say, he's _perfectly fine_ , but the words won't come, and that godforsaken song is still buzzing in his ear, making him cringe ( _you shook me all night long, yeah you shook me, well you took me_ ), and Sam finally notices and…

…he _laughs_.

All of Castiel's carefully crafted control just snaps in that moment. Sam knows all about Castiel's past, he knows all about why he's shy and awkward and hesitant, and he has the audacity to laugh, and though Castiel knows on some level that it wasn't meant cruelly, it's the last straw.

He strides forward, can't possibly know what Sam sees in his eyes as Castiel reaches out and grasps the front of his coveralls, doesn't have the slightest clue what the hitch in Sam's breath indicates, but it doesn't matter because Castiel tugs hard, and Sam stumbles forward, and Castiel tilts his head up just in time to catch Sam's mouth with his own.

It's not a kiss that can be construed as anything other than brutal. Hard, demanding, passionate, teeth clashing and tongues battling as he shoves Sam backward, pushes the taller man down to the hood of Caleb's beloved car. It rocks back with the sudden combined weight of the two men, but Castiel barely notices, doesn't care.

He feels like a man possessed, drawing sounds from Sam he's never dared allow himself to imagine hearing before as he reaches up and tugs at the zipper of Sam's coveralls. He gets it unzipped to Sam's waist and frantically pushes under the t-shirt beneath, his fingers skittering along Sam's stomach, up his chest, tweaking a nipple as he goes.

Beneath him, Sam bucks, his head suddenly thrown back. Castiel can feel how hard he is against his hip, and he feels giddy and powerful all at once. Even through two layers of denim and the thick cotton of the coveralls, there's no missing how desperate Sam is, how much he _wants_.

"Sam," Castiel growls, his voice gravel rough. "Sam, god _damn_ you."

Sam laughs again, breathless as he shoves against Castiel harder. The coveralls have slipped partway off his shoulders, and while his arms aren't pinned, their range of motion is limited. Still, it doesn't stop him from grasping Castiel's forearms hard enough to bruise, or from lifting and closing his thighs around Castiel's waist. It doesn't stop the way he ruts against him as Castiel braces himself on one hand and uses the other to shove Sam's shirt up all the way, making it easier to reach that smooth, delicious expanse of skin.

Castiel wants to taste everywhere, but there's no time for that, everything is too much, too fast. His cock is straining against the zipper of his jeans, pressing against the thick, hard line of Sam's as they move together madly, urgently.

"Dammit Cas, come on, come _on_ ," Sam gasps, and he rears up, gets his mouth on Castiel's neck just as his firm, muscled thighs lock tight and _yank_ , and that's it, that's all Castiel can take.

" _Sam_ ," he cries out, and does exactly as Sam asks, pulsing out in waves of warmth and wetness, coming in his pants for the first time since puberty, coming so hard he swears he sees stars.

Beneath him, Sam thrusts once, twice more, and then groans, his head falling back to the car with a dull thunk, limbs trembling as he loses himself against Castiel.

Castiel holds himself up for as long as he can, but eventually his limbs give out, and he finds himself lying against Sam's chest. He's only given a brief moment to wonder if this is the closest he'll ever be allowed to get again before Sam's arms are coming up and around him, one hand carding carefully through Castiel's hair.

Sam starts to speak, his voice creating pleasant vibrations against Castiel's cheek. "So that was…"

There's no energy left for Castiel to blush, but he squirms a little anyway, trying to hide his face. Sam laughs again (the bastard), and presses a soft kiss to the top of Castiel's head.

Something inside Castiel goes impossibly warm and mellow. "Oh," he breathes, and thinks maybe he finally understands a few things.

Sam tilts Castiel's face towards him, graces him with one of his ridiculously wonderful smiles. "You realize Dean will never let us live this down," he says, nothing more than a simple statement of a fact Castiel is already quite aware of.

He's also aware that Dean will probably be far less surprised by this development than he himself was. Or Sam, for that matter. And remembering just how surprised Sam must have been, he can't help ducking his head again. God, what had he been thinking…?

Bending just slightly, so that his breath whispers along the curve of Castiel's ear and makes him shiver, Sam says, "Hey Cas, listen. They're playing our song."

Castiel knows better, he _does_ , but he focuses on the sound of the radio for the first time since this began, has time enough to hear the words, _I need you more than ever, let's spend the night together_. He feels his face flush warmly, but the outraged cry he was about to give gets swallowed by Sam, who licks his way into Castiel's mouth like he owns it, and it's suddenly very hard to remember why he was outraged to begin with.

He thinks perhaps he may not be allowed to complain about Dean's taste in music ever again after this.

He thinks he can learn to live with that.


End file.
